


My Mind is a Stranger Without You

by sarahgalaxy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Oblivious Steve Rogers, POV Steve Rogers, and that's what I need right now, this fic is very 2012
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25797295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahgalaxy/pseuds/sarahgalaxy
Summary: Tony keeps secrets and puts himself in danger. Steve uses that time to fall in love with him.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Updated every 2-3 weeks.

Joy.  
Adrenaline and elation ran high in Steve’s veins, even with the dull ache in his ribs and the bleeding gash on his eyebrow that made his eyes water.  
Over the earpiece, he heard Tony whoop. A moment later, a red streak circled across the sky in a glorified victory lap.  
“Is everyone okay?” Steve asked.  
Everyone responded, except for Tony, whose comm was silent.  
“Iron Man?” Steve said. He looked into the empty sky.  
“Stark?” Steve said. “I need verbal confirmation. Does anyone see him?”  
“That’s a negative,” Clint said. He was most likely perched on the Chrysler and had the best view of anyone.  
Steve took a breath. “This isn’t funny!”He felt something slide around his waist. He jerked instinctively, but the arm held fast.  
Tony's voice crackled over the radio, tinged with glee. “I think this is pretty funny, Capsicle.”  
“Let me go.”  
“Whatever you say.” The cold grip on Steve’s waist loosened a little, and Steve flailed in midair.  
“Tony!”  
“Geez, lighten up a little.”  
Steve scowled as Tony swept lazily through the empty Manhattan streets.  
“Tony, let me down or I'll..."  
Tony lowered Steve onto the ground and Steve tore off his cowl, ready to scream. Tony popped open his faceplate. “Cap. Relax.”  
“You can’t just go around pulling jokes on us like that. What if you were really in danger? We wouldn’t have known. And the next time you do that - ”  
“Okay, there’s no need to get your panties in a twist - ”  
“Dammit, Stark!”  
Tony laughed.  
“Uh, guys?” Clint said.  
“We can handle this, Hawkeye,” said Steve, glaring daggers at Tony. In return, Tony gave him a white-toothed smile.  
“Stark, I-”  
Something feathery and smelling of sewage smacked into Steve’s chest, knocking him backward.  
“Oh, fuck."  
Apparently, they hadn’t managed to get rid of all of the genetically engineered birds that had appeared earlier that morning.  
Without his cowl, the bird broke easily into his skin. Steve wrestled with the flapping body, trying to pry it off his chest, but it had a firm grip and there was blood in his eyes.  
He cried out when the bird’s claws dug into his neck, struggling against the giant wings.  
He heard Tony shout. There was a loud whirring sound, and for an instant, he felt blistering heat.  
Freed from the bird, Steve put a hand on his throat. His palm came away slick and wet. A few feet away, the bird lay in a sizzling heap on the ground. “Steve,” Tony said, running up to Steve.  
“Put pressure on it,” Steve said when Tony leaned over him.  
Speaking into the radio, Tony said, “Seriously, are there any more of them out there?”  
“Negative,” replied Natasha.  
“But she did punch one, like, five seconds ago,” Clint added.  
“So there are more?”  
“Stop yelling, please,” Steve said.  
The world tilted and Steve squinted, trying to focus on Tony’s face. There were bags under Tony’s eyes, dark and bruised.  
“No, I promise.” It was Clint.  
“Well, stay up there, just in case.”  
Tony lay a warm, callused hand on Steve’s face.  
Steve tried to sit up, but the world spun, and it felt like someone had knifed him in the chest. Tony pushed Steve back down. “Don’t move, all right?”  
“I’m starting to feel better already.”  
“I’m not taking any chances.”  
Steve sighed. The wound was already starting to heal, the pain lessening to an ache. “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. But you need to stop pulling stunts like that.”  
Tony rolled his eyes. “I’ll keep you informed, Cap.”  
“And don’t pick me up like that.”  
Tony winked and gave Steve a mock salute.  
Steve tried to stand and felt like his ribs were burning. He tried to hide his wince, but it was too late. Tony wrapped a mechanical hand around Steve’s arm. “All right. We’re taking a little trip down to medical.”  
-  
Steve had six broken ribs, but the doctors gave him bandages only as a protocol - his wounds would heal within hours at most. Only fading white scars remained on his neck, and his bruises had disappeared. Natasha and Clint sat on the other side of the room. Natasha had broken a wrist, which had been set, and a nurse was stitching up Clint.  
“Unfair,” Clint mouthed from across the room. Steve grinned back.  
He stood up to leave when Pepper strode into the room, heels clicking.  
"What’s wrong?” Steve asked, noticing the crease in her brow.  
“Tony’s in medical,” she said. Steve jumped, beelining for the door.  
“He’s fine,” Bruce said, grabbing Steve’s shoulder. “He’s got a few second-degree burns, but he’ll be fine.”  
“Why aren’t you there with him?” Steve snapped, pushing past them. “Where is he?”  
“Steve, we -”  
But Steve was gone.  
-  
Tony looked like a toddler, his legs swinging impatiently from the exam table.  
“What the hell, Tony?”  
“Again with the swearing?” Tony’s arms were covered in clean white bandages, including one on his chest, more sloppily applied. Beneath it was a faint, luminescent glow.  
Tony followed Steve’s gaze. “It’s for the suit. Gotta make sure no one can use it but me.”  
Steve clenched his jaw. “Why didn’t you tell us you were hurt?”  
“Well, to be fair, the suit cracked after that stupid bird -”  
“I don’t care when. I want to know why you didn't tell me.”  
Tony glared at him. “It just so happens that you were bleeding to death on the pavement.”  
“I wasn’t dying. You know that." Steve stepped closer, and he was gratified to see that Tony looked intimidated. “Why didn’t you say anything?”  
"I'm not in the mood for this." Tony's voice was sharp and brittle, so much so that Steve let him push past and disappear.  
-  
Tony wasn’t there for the debriefing, which was unusual - ever since Pepper had taken charge of the company, Tony was always present for debriefings, what with his boss breathing down his neck. Unless he’d been seriously injured, he always managed to show up, albeit about half an hour late. Worst of all, Fury didn’t even question it. He shut Steve and his questions down, multiple times. By the time Steve returned to his quarters, he was fuming. He took a burning shower and considered shredding his mattress to bits.  
Tony, for whatever reason, had insisted Steve live in his tower. “You need to get out of that musty health hazard of an apartment. There's probably asbestos in the ceiling. That's a carcinogen, by the way.” So now Steve was sprawled on a king-sized mattress lying on sheets worth more than a month’s rent in Lower Manhattan. It didn’t matter. It was all pocket change to Tony.  
Tony. Steve shut his eyes, and all he could see was the glow emanating from Tony's chest.


	2. Chapter 2

It was quiet, for a time. The sky was free from aliens, robots, and bitter gods with a tendency towards the dramatic. Tony seldom showed his face and hardly ever talked to Steve, except yesterday, when Steve had said “good morning” and Tony had replied with a grunt. He’d had a sandwich in his mouth and looked hungover, so Steve wasn’t too bothered.   
Steve spent time with Natasha and Clint when they weren’t on away missions. They trained and practiced hand to hand combat with each other. He also spent time with Bruce in the lab. Tony had given Bruce his lab, complete with enough funding to rival the GDP of a small country.   
Bruce’s lab was strangely soothing. Bruce was calm and methodical about everything, to the point where Steve wondered how much of it was a practiced calm and how much of it was natural. He had considered coming more often, but the lab was Bruce’s refuge, so he didn’t intrude too often.   
Thor wasn’t usually in the Tower. When he was, he always took Steve out to pizza. It made Steve a little queasy to watch Thor eat, but Thor made him laugh, and he listened to Steve’s aimless rambling. 

Tony was never around. Steve wondered if he ever spent time with anyone besides his robots. 

It was a quiet Thursday afternoon when Steve, not sure what was possessing him to do so, decided to put an end to Tony’s perpetual absence. He went downstairs to Tony’s lab and peered through the glass doors, which were locked shut. 

An omniscient British voice supplied, “He’s under the green Porsche, sir. Fourth from the left.”   
Steve jumped. He still felt unsettled by the disembodied voice in the ceiling and avoided it whenever possible.   
Even so, he said, “Thank you, Mr. Jarvis.”   
“Of course, sir.”   
Silence.   
“Could you tell Tony I’m here?”   
There was a pause. Then JARVIS replied, “I’m afraid he’s very busy, sir.”   
“Tell him it’s important.”  
Steve felt triumphant when Tony slid out from under the car, but he didn’t look in Steve’s direction.   
Steve’s cell phone started ringing.   
“We have a situation,” Fury said. “Origin seems to be on the Upper East Side.”   
Steve bit back a sigh. “We’ll be right on it.”   
\-   
Why did they always go for art? Steve wondered. First Nazis, now robots. Most of them followed their leader’s instructions to cause general chaos and destruction, but there were a few rogue ones who’d wandered south and into the MoMA to fry some paintings.   
Steve brought his shield down on one of them and extracted The Starry Night from its clutches. He handed it to a group of museum attendants hidden around the corner. “Sorry about that,” he said and ran off.  
The artist in him glowed. He’d just held a Van Gogh.   
Steve rescued a Picasso, too. He had just subdued the last of the museum robots when he heard Clint’s voice. “Cap, are you with us?”   
“Yeah, I’ll be right out.”   
“Oh, of course, he’s in the museum,” Clint said.   
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Cap,” said Tony between gasps, “We need you out here.”  
"I'm coming,” Steve said. He veered towards Central Park, where he saw a plume of smoke rising into the sky.  
“Should I be worried about the smoke?” He asked.   
“Nah, Hawkeye just set a bunch on fire.”   
“We’ve got first responders on 5th,” Natasha said.   
Steve ran past a staggering robot that promptly collapsed into a heap. These robots were big and could discharge volts of electricity, but their legs were spindly and easily broken.   
Tony flew by, and he seemed to be having fun. He blasted a robot in the Hulk’s general direction, which the Hulk swatted like a volleyball. It skidded into a Chipotle.   
“On your six, Iron Man!” Steve said. A giant robot, much bigger than the rest, moved towards them, crackling with energy.  
Tony turned around and fired a blast. The robot staggered, but not before emitting a bolt of electricity, a concentrated blast that hit Tony square in the chest.   
Steve’s shield sliced through the robot’s knees. It whined and toppled over.   
“Tony!”   
Tony lay in a crooked heap. Steve ran over to him, reaching out, when a voice said, “Stop, Captain.” It had come from Tony’s suit.   
“Jarvis?” Steve said.   
“Captain Rogers," The voice said, calm as ever, "I am ridding the suit of electric charge. Sir is in cardiac arrest. I have already contacted emergency services.”   
Steve fell to his knees by Tony’s body. The suit was coming apart, exposing Tony’s prone form, until all the metal covering his chest was removed.   
“Jarvis-”  
“Captain, you must perform chest compressions. I can keep time.”   
Steve didn’t think - he pushed his hands into Tony’s sternum, squinting from the bright, blue light. One, Two, One, Two, One Two. Between compressions, he felt the deep hum of the blue light.   
Tony could die today.   
Beads of sweat slid down Steve’s neck.   
Dear God, he thought. Let him live. God, please, please, please, that’s all I want.   
In the corner of his eye, there was a movement.   
“Sir! Sir!” Steve looked up, not stopping for a moment. It was a first responder, and she was holding a manual defibrillator. With practiced hands, she opened Tony’s shirt and smoothed the pads onto his body.  
“Let go of him,” the paramedic ordered, and Steve realized he’d been squeezing Tony’s hands bloodless.  
The paramedic sat back on her feet, muttering under her breath. Then she leaned forward and began chest compressions.   
Steve’s pulse was going so fast he felt sick. “What do I do?”  
“Get back. We’re going again.”   
Sweat was running into Steve’s eyes. He sat back on his heels as Tony’s form blurred before him.  
The slight whine told him that a current had been discharged. There was a long pause, and all the noise from earlier fell into the background.   
Then Tony gasped and convulsed. His eyes opened.   
“Tony,” Steve said. He reached out to grab Tony’s hand, but the paramedic threw her arm out to block him.  
“Don’t touch him. We’re taking him to S.H.I.E.L.D. medical.”   
The ambulance was there - it must have been there all along, but Steve hadn’t noticed it. People in uniform swarmed him, lifted Tony onto a stretcher, and carried him in.   
“I’m going with him,” Steve said.   
“No.”   
“I need to go with him.”  
The ambulance sped off, sirens wailing. The streets were empty and smelled of ozone.   
Steve leaned over and vomited.   
-  
Steve felt like he’d been there for hours when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Natasha. “Come on,” she said. “Tony’s gonna be okay.”   
Steve felt something explode behind his eyes. “No, he’s not. He’s not fucking okay!”   
If Natasha was startled, she didn’t show it. “S.H.I.E.L.D. has transport waiting for us. Come on.”  
One last bit of sanity reared its head, and Steve asked, “Are there any more of them?”  
“No,” Natasha replied. “Tony killed their leader.”  
“If Tony dies -” Then what? Then what would Steve do? He felt the grip of hysteria on his throat.   
“He won't,” Natasha said, voice firm. "Now come on.”  
-  
Steve couldn’t remember the ride to HQ. He didn’t know how he’d gotten access to Tony’s room.  
But he did remember Tony. He was wearing a blue hospital gown, eyes closed, his upper body covered in wires and stickers and tubes. But his chest was moving up and down, and the heart rate monitor’s beep was steady.   
Steve exhaled a prayer.   
None of them were invincible. Tony would hate to be reminded. He'd hate Steve's worrying, too.  
"You’re such a mom,” he’d say, and Steve would roll his eyes.   
But looking down at Tony, with smile wrinkles around his eyes, browned skin, and blooming purple bruises, Steve couldn't stop the steady thump-thump of affection and anxiety.   
-  
The setting sun glowed through the window, resting over the bedsheets and Tony’s face.   
“Sir?”   
Steve turned around. A man in scrubs was standing in the doorway.   
“Hi, I’m Dr. Mendez. You must be Steve Rogers.” Steve was relieved to see that the doctor was unruffled by his presence.  
“When will he wake up?” He asked.  
Dr. Mendez looked at Tony. "He woke up sporadically for a while, but as soon as the armor came off, we put him on painkillers. He's very weak."   
"What do you mean, 'the armor came off'? You didn't take it off before?”   
Dr. Mendez pursed his lips. "We couldn’t get it off until his computer agreed to the procedure.”   
“J - the armor spoke to you?”  
"Yes, in the operating room. Due to Mr. Stark’s situation, we agreed to implant an ICD. It was intended to be temporary, but the computer said that it couldn’t allow that, and made several threats.” Dr. Mendez paled slightly. “Since Mr. Stark’s condition was stable, we decided not to interfere. The rest of the armor didn’t come off until we left him here alone.” Dr. Mendez gestured to a briefcase tucked in the corner of the room. “That's where his suit went.”   
“When can he come home?” Steve asked.   
“Not for another few days,” Dr. Mendez replied. “I want to monitor his condition."  
As soon as the doctor left, Steve went over to the suitcase. The lock appeared simple, but when he pressed his fingers to open it, it wouldn’t budge. Instead, Jarvis’s voice filled the room. “Reading. Captain Steven Rogers. Access authorized.” The metal locks unfurled to reveal a small lens. It clicked on, and a hologram of the arc reactor appeared before Steve.   
“Hello, Captain Rogers,” said JARVIS. “I believe an explanation is in order.”   
Steve's eyes widened. "You're in the suitcase, too?"  
"I am always with Sir,” JARVIS replied, sounding faintly amused. “As I said, Captain Rogers, I must address some concerns."   
Steve nodded, “Okay.”   
“Mr. Stark would not have been in danger, had it not been for his secret.”   
“I’m sorry?”   
“Are you aware of the function of the arc reactor?” The hologram spun on its side, giving Steve a full view of the arc reactor. He saw wires protruding from the bottom end.   
“It's how Tony summons his suits,” Steve said.   
“No, Captain. It keeps him alive.”   
-  
It had been three days, Tony was alive, and Steve still saw red when he closed his eyes. He didn’t know exactly who he was angry with. All he knew was that it gathered in his belly and wouldn’t go away.   
He and Natasha were sitting in the lounge in silence. Steve wasn’t in the mood for talking, and Natasha was reading. She wasn’t the chatty type anyway.   
Steve wondered if reading something would help and got up to look at the bookshelf. He had just selected an Agatha Christie when the door opened. 

Tony was wearing a t-shirt, thin enough that you could see the bandages underneath. His eyes were bruised dark. Steve felt his heart lurch. He'd never seen Tony so frail.  
Tony and Steve stood frozen, staring at each other. Natasha slipping past Tony, gently patting his shoulder. “Be nice,” she said.   
The door closed behind her. Tony opened his mouth.   
“Whatever it is, don’t say it,” Steve snapped. “I don’t want to hear it.”   
“What, you're pinning this on me again? Goddammit, Steve, at least we’re alive." Tony's voice was bland and tired.   
“But you weren’t. You were dead!”   
Tony waved his hand as if this information was an unimportant tidbit.   
“No, Tony, I saw you die. You weren’t breathing. I saw you taken away, you were dead!"  
“You were a soldier. I’m sure you saw this all the time.”  
“Don’t fucking talk about them. Do you think I don’t think about them? You think I don’t have nightmares about them? You think I don’t see their faces at night?”  
Tony was silent.   
“Fuck you, to think that I could stand losing someone else I care about. Fuck you for not telling me.”   
Tony paled a little. “Tell you what?”   
Steve winced. “Nothing. Now get out.”   
“Steve-”  
“Get out!”   
Steve watched the door close behind Tony. When it was clear he wouldn’t return, Steve sank into the couch.   
He put his head in his hands and felt tears.


	3. Chapter 3

For several days now, Steve had only been at the Tower to sleep, and he’d always slipped in as unobtrusively as possible. Today, however, Steve had woken up to the sound of heavy sleet hitting his window and decided to use the gym instead.   
He was okay with that. He wasn’t avoiding Tony. He’d just needed to clear his head.   
Clint was in the kitchen at breakfast, drinking directly out of a carton of orange juice.   
“Morning,” he said. He held out the carton. “Want some?”  
“No, thanks,” Steve said. “Pass me the Cheerios, please.”  
“You’re such an old man,” Clint said. "You’ll be wanting the newspaper, ri-oh my god.” Steve had opened to the puzzle section The New York Times.   
“Leave me alone, Barton,” Steve said, hiding a smile.   
“All I ask is that you don’t yell at me from your front porch.”   
“No, I’ll do it from my lawn chair by the petunias,” Steve replied.   
Clint laughed. “Sir, yes sir." He pushed himself off the countertop he’d been sitting on. “Well, time to go drag my ass down to training. With Nat.” He disappeared out the door, his gaze shifting over the ceiling. The pair had a knack for climbing through the vents no matter how many deterrents Tony put in place.  
Steve had just started a sudoku puzzle when he heard footsteps. Tony was standing in the kitchen. They hadn’t spoken to each other in three days.   
“What are you doing here?” Steve asked.   
“Good morning to you too, Cap. I live here.”   
“You should be in bed.”   
“Doing what? Moping?”  
“Recovering.”   
Tony opened the fridge and found an uneaten slice of cake marked CLINT’S!! DO NOT EAT. He took a huge bite out of it.   
“You need to eat something healthier,” Steve said.  
“Yeah, well, I don’t feel like it.” Tony opened the cabinet drawer where cookware was kept and pulled out a bottle of cognac.   
Steve winced when Tony took a swig. Do something, he thought. But he stayed frozen in his chair, staring at the sudoku numbers blurring together.   
Tony opened the fridge, knocking over bottles and Tupperware and a box of Bruce’s syringes.   
Steve walked over and reorganized the fallen items. Tony had found what he was looking for: mustard, ketchup, lettuce, french fries (Clint’s), tomato slices, julienned pickle, three types of cheeses, and sliced cucumber. Tony, somehow, managed to squish all of it between two slices of bread and took a giant bite.   
Steve looked back at the puzzle, feeling queasy. He heard Tony set the cognac down. The container rattled hollowly.  
Steve’s father had regularly drunk enough liquor to kill a horse. Tony did the same. He drank alone and too much, and lately, he was drowning in it.   
“The electromagnet keeps me alive.”   
Steve looked up, startled.   
“And the arc reactor powers it.”   
The pencil in Steve’s hand went still. “I know,” he managed, not looking at Tony. “JARVIS told me.”   
“Jesus fuck, you traitorous son of a bitch!” Tony yelled at the ceiling. He moved past the table, rattling Steve's soggy bowl of Cheerios. He threw his half-eaten sandwich into the garbage.  
“Tony,” Steve said as Tony slipped past.   
But Tony was already gone. Steve looked down at his Sudoku, only to realize he had snapped his pencil in half. 

Steve lay in his bed, avoiding looking at the clock. How long had it been since he’d crawled into bed? An hour? Two? He could sleep anywhere if need be, even standing up. But here and now it seemed impossible. He closed his eyes and all he could see was Tony, the lights, and the dark veins moving like roots across his chest. He imagined flecks of shrapnel, embedded in muscle, moving into Tony’s heart, ruining it. He thought of the war.  
“Don’t,” Steve said to the empty room. He kicked off the sheets and went to the living room carrying his sketching kit. He sat down by the window, where the moonlight spilled over him the strongest and began to draw. 

The head, the arms, the legs. Rough bits of a person. And then: more detail. The shining bits of armor, the hard lines of metal. And finally: the glow of light in the middle of his chest. Tony Stark, the Iron Man. 

Steve flipped to another page of his sketchbook and started another drawing. Tony flying, Tony blasting one of those birds, Tony and Loki facing off. Steve smiled at the memory. Loki had looked especially pompous that day. 

On his fifth drawing, Steve drew Tony without his faceplate. It made him grin, the sight of Tony’s bare face sticking out of that suit. He’d never tell Tony, of course. 

When the kitchen clock read 4:32 AM, Steve stowed his sketchbook in his closet and went to bed.


End file.
